Mea Culpa
by Xeen Cyr
Summary: post AbilitY. A few scenes in a bar... or else. Hints of Bolivia.


**Mea Culpa**

_No in__FRiNGEment intended. _

_Note: not episode related. No specific spoilers but post AbilitY. Hints of Bolivia. Lots of dialogue (sorry, my bad!)_

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

"What's with Olivia?" agent Charlie Francis asked.

"Oh, probably girl stuff," Astrid Farnsworth answered with a shrug, turning to her boss who was dangerously swaying at the other end of the bar. "I don't know."

She had a very good idea of Olivia's dilemma, but it was not her place to confess Olivia's dirty secrets to Francis. He was not happy with her answer though. Charlie Francis did not seem able to shake off the job. _Once a cop, always a cop_, she thought returning her gaze to Peter and Olivia who were apparently in a fight of some sort.

"Is she working too much?" he insisted.

_Having to__o many synaptic transfers, that's what she's having,_ Astrid prompted to herself. She managed to hide a last second grin when she was reminded of their first day at the lab, Francis barging in with some information only to stumble upon Olivia ready to strip down to her underwear under Peter and Walter supervision… so much for FBI protocols and investigation as they knew it.

"Yes, she's really dedicated to her work, and tenacious."

"I have the feeling that she's hiding something from me," he insisted.

"I wouldn't say. She doesn't tell me much, really," Astrid apologized. Moreover, she had no intention of spending her first night out in weeks discussing Olivia's problems, personal or else, with a colleague she didn't have any connection with or special interest into.

"Yeah," he snorted, turning his back to Olivia and Peter and stooping over the counter, "tell me about it, she just kind of keeps things to herself ever since John died," and took a gulp of his beer. He checked his wrist watch. "I really should get going. She can take care of herself… I guess."

_It's like he's trying to __coax himself into putting her out of his mind. Is he attracted to her or is it just concern from an old friend_?

"Yes she can. And she's with Peter, he won't let drink too much." But it was very unlikely, she smiled to herself.

"Yes, he can take care of her." Francis glanced back a last time, tossed some change on the counter and stood up. "I don't doubt for a second that Bishop will be there if she lets him."

Astrid gave him a puzzled look. Wasn't he married or engaged or something? What was it with Olivia that made her a guy magnet? Was it the gorgeous hair? Or the perpetual deer caught in the floodlights eyes? Or the twitching of the mouth? Or was it the way her nose wrinkled when she was grinning?

Astrid sighed. Olivia had this effect on everyone it seems, guys and girls all the same. Given enough time, she could even become her type, for god's sake. She kept staring at the odd couple for a little while before leaving the bar in Charlie's wake.

The night was still young.

"Peter, you got to realize something." Olivia staggered. He kept a hand on her arm and helped her back onto the stool. She pressed her hands on his chest to sit upright and almost lost her balance again. "It's a weird world we live in, and it's cruel and… irrational, you know."

She had been ranting for the last half hour now and he was not concerned that one could eavesdrop because she was not making any sense whatsoever. He smiled and waved back at Astrid who was quietly leaving the bar right behind Francis. That was odd though. As far as he knew, the guy was married. He didn't picture Astrid into a girl who could fall for Francis, --or any man for that matter. Was his gaydar off? Olivia tried to turn around to see who he was waving at. He grabbed her wrist before she fell again and turned his attention back to her, doing his best to keep a straight face.

"And I'm not being shallow, Peter, this is not just bar talk. Well, it sounds like it is but if you will hear me out… please." She made the most adorable sulky face ever and he nodded. "You agree that it's a world where lunatics thrive, CEO's who play God run free, and good men die like dogs," she toasted, and raising her glass above her head she began to swirl on herself. She must have mulled over this one a million times, he thought. He tightened his grip. "But…" She leaned over to whisper in his ear and slid against him, hanging on to his sweater.

He gave up the idea of sitting her back safely on the stool and looped his arms protectively around her, spreading his legs to get her closer. His chin sank into her hair. "Oh I see, there's a but…" he asked gently. And in this category fell the fact that he had had to put down some roots to take care of Walter and that he was dangerously beginning to feel attracted to his boss. He hugged her more tightly and nuzzled in her hair.

"Yes of course there is!" she protested trying to get free of his arms. She spilled half her glass on his sleeve and splashed the rest on the counter.

He relinquished his grip and looked her in the eyes. She could not focus and her upper lip was twitched. "Obviously there is."

She had had a couple of drinks and was barely holding up. Something was wrong. He was beginning to suspect that the one who could hold his liquor was John and definitely not Liv. Her current state could be proof enough that he was gone for good. Or it could be the after effect of Jones' escape and the fact that she simply could not let go and help from beating herself up about it.

"There's also a negative side."

"Okay, you've got enough to drink, sweetheart."

"But there is, Peter, I'm dead serious!"

"Of course you are. And I guess that it's gloomier than everything you listed already? Thank you but no thank you. This chapter of tonight conversation is over."

"Oh," she breathed. She sounded a bit disappointed but that was all she could muster. "What's next then?" She knotted her hands around his neck and smiled seductively, parting her lips, her head inches away from his.

"I'll put you in a cab and we'll come back and get your car tomorrow," he stated with a smile, his eyes locked on hers. That was odd to see Olivia out of control and vulnerable. At least, she trusted him or she would not let her guard down. No cab, he would drive her home.

"We will?" Her voice caressing, her lips inviting, she squinted and tilted her head. "Did I ever tell you that you have the most beautiful eyes, Peter?" She fought back a hiccup and raised on her tiptoes. "They are a very special shade of green with sparkles of hazel and gold and…"

"Get a room," a drunken voice interrupted her.

"Right," said Peter, "let's get moving." He made her lose her grip on his neck and dragged her to the exit.

"She's a handful this one. I'm glad I don't have that kind of show on the road," someone elbowed him in the back with a coarse laugh.

Peter resisted the impulse to sweep her in his arms and carry her out. He simply helped her to the door the best he could while patrons were jeering at them. At least, she had something right; it was a mean world.

She bumbled outside, all giggly and agitated. He managed to tie her scarf properly and took her arm to guide her to his antique car. When he opened the door to the Bishop's family wagon, Olivia flopped down inside before he had to ask. He flipped her coat and her arm away from the door, closed it carefully and went behind the wheel. Hidden behind a soft curtain of hair, she was struggling with the old seat belt. He bent over to help her with the buckle. Her hair brushed his face. He struggled with the belt in the dark and felt her hand on his back and her breath on his head and ear. He finally succeeded in fastening it safely and turned to her. Her face was totally unreadable. Her breath smelled of cheap alcohol but her perfume whiffed and curled around him. He tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, stroking her cheek in the process. "You're all set," he patted her thigh. He sat back into the driver's seat and started the engine.

"No I'm not!" she protested, pulling hard on the belt and only managing to get stuck.

"Stop it. You're going to strangle yourself with this thing."

"But…" she seemed confused, "aren't you supposed to kiss me now?"

"No, not now, only when we're at your door," he grinned.

Oblivious of his teasing, she pointed a finger at him and pouted her mouth. "Right. Home Jeeves."

"Very well Miss Livvie."

By the time they arrived at her place, she was fast asleep, her head cuddled against the faded upholstery and she was snoring softly. He turned off the engine. He couldn't possibly drop her on her doorstep and leave. But the last thing he wanted was to meet Rachel again. He checked the windows. No light. They might be gone. Or asleep. He will have to take his chances.

"Olivia? Liv? We're here." He stroked her arm and she woke up with a jolt, her head bumping into his. He backed away, rubbing his forehead.

"Peter? Why are you in my car?"

"I'm afraid we left your car on the other side of town. Technically, you, --we're in Walter's car."

"What time is it?"

"Time to get some sleep."

"Okay."

If he was surprised that she didn't oppose any resistance, he kept his cards close to his chest. He went around the car and opened the door, placing a hand on her shoulder so that she wouldn't lose her balance and fall down on the pavement. She glanced to her door and back to Peter.

"I'm not sure I can," she said softly. "Everything is kind of spinning. You should have stopped me. I'm going to be sick."

"Not if I can help it. But you're right, I should have. I'll carry you to your door, okay?" She nodded and stretched her arms. He picked her up and jogged up the stairs to her door. She was lighter than he had anticipated. "I will put you down now, so you hold on to me and try to find your keys."

"My keys?"

"You don't expect me to pick your lock, do you?"

"Oh… the keys, sorry. Maybe we could just ring."

"Your sister still here?"

"No. She went back to Philadelphia. I guess she got frightened," she chuckled.

"That wouldn't be very practical then."

"Right." She shook her head and smiled. "I'll find the keys, but please, don't you drop me."

"I won't. Cross my heart and hope to die!" he said. He slowly put her down and grabbed her by the arm. After she gave him a pair of gloves, a cell phone and a PDA, with their chargers and spare batteries, a large purse, a check-book, two packs of gum, a notepad, a few pens, a wool beanie, solar glasses, pocket pack tissues, some change, her FBI badge and several scrunchies, he had to let her go and she leaned on the door to stay stable. "Who are you? Mary Poppins?" he exclaimed trying to get hold of her things. "Where do you find room for your side arm and ammo?"

Giggling she finally produced the set of keys. "You forget the knife and the handcuffs," she winked. She pushed the door open and stumbled down the hall.

"Wow, wow, wow, enough bobbing around. I'll carry you to your room, you okay with that?"

"Yes," she sighed clinging to him. "You're a lifesaver."

"Of course I am, but you'll do the same for me, wouldn't you?"

"Apart from the carrying thingy, absolutely," she beamed.

He turned on the lights as he went and finally laid her down on her bed. In the room, there were files and photographs everywhere. "Spring cleaning?" he said casually, his eyes embracing the floor. Not only forensic reports, but photos of John, of her with John, and letters he discarded to make some space for her to rest. "You want to talk about it?"

She stayed silent, tears welling up.

"A nod of the head will do me fine," he trailed, putting his arm around her shoulders. "He's gone isn't he?" He didn't expect her to answer and kept silent for a while. "You miss him?"

"I don't know. I spent so much time hating him for what I thought he had done that it's hard to realize that he's gone. Well, yes, I guess he's gone." She wiped the tears off her face. "Haven't seen him for a while now," she smiled. "I've been thinking the whole thing over and over and I'm not sure that I didn't make it up, his redemption, you know?"

"Let it go Liv, or your worries will eat at you day and night."

"Yes, you're probably right. But tonight I don't know," she said. "I want to lie down."

"I'll get you a cup of tea."

"Coffee please?"

"Coffee it is, don't go anywhere."

She lay down and closed her eyes.

Olivia had fallen asleep again. She might have tossed on the bed because the sheets were torn and she was all over the place.

Peter sat the cup on her night stand. He put a blanket on her, took her hair away from her face and turned off the light. "You're a lovely drunk Ms Dunham," he murmured, brushing his lips on her hair.

She didn't flinch nor open her eyes and grasped his hand. "Peter, please stay with me."

"I'm not sure about that Olivia," he said, sitting on the bed.

She winced and flashed him an angry stare. "Why not? You really seem eager to leave me lately."

He chose to ignore the criticism. She was right. He did leave her alone with the bomb. "If I stay, I'm going to fall asleep. And you know how things are."

"How so?"

"Well, one thing leads to another… Imagine I have a bit of a brainwave and mistake you for someone else?"

"I see," she pondered. "You would regret it?"

"For the sake of argument, let's say that it would be bad enough to take advantage of you when you're drunk."

"Can't you wait till I sober up to have your… brainwave?" she raised on her elbow.

He couldn't see her face in the dark and decide whether it was alcohol talk. "And in the end, it would be awkward since you're my boss, --technically," he insisted.

"You mean that I could sue you for sexual harassment?"

He chuckled. "Yes, that too."

"I see. Peter, may I ask you something?"

"Shoot."

"That guy, your weird connection at the bookstore."

"Markham, yes, what about him?"

"Were you serious when you told him that I was _just_ a friend?"

"Absolutely!"

"Then what are you afraid of?" she smiled, patting the bed beside her. He sighed and lay next to her, his arms crossed on his chest.


End file.
